


Break Down, Break Up?

by mixedwithintellect



Category: Don't Let Me Go - Harry Styles (Song), Kiwi - Harry Styles (Song), Medicine - Harry Styles (Song), One Direction (Band), Sweet Creature - Harry Styles (Song)
Genre: Break Up, F/M, Lovers to Friends, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-31
Updated: 2018-08-31
Packaged: 2019-07-05 00:23:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15852462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mixedwithintellect/pseuds/mixedwithintellect
Summary: the one where Y/N learns life isn't about being okay, and Harry just wants to be with her





	Break Down, Break Up?

Harry must have been performing Kiwi for what seemed like the seventh time that night, with how many different videos were uploading. #Kiwi was trending worldwide, for sure, and your feed was being pumped with gifs, videos, quotes, comments, and general screams from fans. They knew you were his girlfriend, and most were fine with it – especially when you acknowledged how you all felt the same lurch of butterflies and love towards the curly-haired man prancing onstage.

The fans sharing Harry’s night with you wasn’t inherently bad, not at all. You had always been fiercely proud of Harry’s successes because they were completely, genuinely, him. His words had become something incredibly precious, in the way few works of art had before, to hundreds of thousands of people. He was an artist in the truest sense of the word. The world was anticipating his every move, even his next breath seemed to be applauded by the universe.

Okay, maybe you were being a _bit_ dramatic, but you couldn’t help it, that boy made you feel a type of way sometimes.

Instead of browsing your feed for a meme-worthy photo of your boyfriend to Instagram later with some idiotic caption, per usual, you opened up your phone’s photo albums.

It was a late Tuesday night. There was a stack of dishes that you didn’t particularly care to look after teetering against the sink, and a bottle of wine was open (and a good part gone) on your coffee table. It seemed like a nice, relaxing evening, yet you couldn’t shake off the feeling that you should’ve had more to do than just binge-watch cooking shows and stress about your next project at work. Even livestreaming Harry’s show felt a bit painful, another reminder how you weren’t there with him at the biggest moment of his career yet.

You flicked through the photos Harry had sent you recently, the ones of him piling in small, dingy diners with the rest of his band, posing next to obscure national landmarks, the up-close shots of Mitch’s nostrils and Harry’s on the night they drank a little too heavily (and if nostril shots were the worst it would get, it was fine with you). Wherever he was, it seemed, things _happened_. Life was a fast-paced action movie with montages galore, and you were in the scene with crickets as the only soundtrack.

How could two emotions coexist together so strongly, and fail to cancel one another out? Sadness bore down against your pride, a minor jealously you detested stirring against your guts. It wasn’t fair that you were upset Harry was doing so many exciting things – he had worked hard for it, and it was simply a part of his job. His fans got him there, they got him into venues that most artists only dreamed of performing at.

And yet, you were still harboring vague bitterness towards all the voicemails piling in your messages, of Harry excitedly prattling on about all the offers he was getting for collaborations for a second album, for photoshoots, interviews, and company deals. His life had been fast-paced for the past seven years, but now it was on an entirely different level.

As for you, nothing much was happening. You had a sturdy schedule you kept to, a certain time you woke in the mornings and left for work, a certain time you took your lunch break and went across the street to the cafe to order what had become your “usual” to the waitstaff. A certain time you returned, a certain time you left, a certain time you slept. And repeat.

You were getting stuff _done_ , it wasn’t like you were in a complete roadblock of life. But nothing felt fulfilling, your life felt as though you were a chapter behind everyone else in Adulting. They, whoever ‘they’ were, were receiving promotions, having children, buying property, moving across the country – even going out partying once a week, which you never did much of anymore. Your apartment was too comfortable, why leave it to get grinded on by some horny losers and be overcharged for watered down drinks? You had a lovely collection of drinks in the safety of your place, and you could wear whatever the hell you wanted.

You didn’t have many friends, but it wasn’t for a lack of being social when you _did_ find yourself out and about. There were plenty of acquaintances filling up your messages and they were all nice people. But, you couldn’t help it if you didn’t feel comfortable telling those people intimate details about your life. Your close friends, the ones who knew you like no one else, were all living in different cities, and while you tried to stay in touch, there were often lulls in your relationships of silence and missed calls.

It still wasn’t enough. There wasn’t a particular outlet where your dissatisfaction had originated, but it only seemed to multiply when you were reminded that yeah, Harry was fine and you were dealing with this alone. He didn’t know how you felt.

There was no way you had thought of, truly, to tell him that didn’t sound like excessive complaining, or that wouldn’t worry him too much. Because he was already a worrier.

He worried, sometimes, about how often he was away. How it felt to have to settle for missed messages and spotty FaceTime calls, and how the most you saw of him was through someone else’s camera. He was worried that he couldn’t give you his all, sometimes.

Which was ironic, considering that’s how you were feeling in reverse. You knew your potential, and you knew your current life was nowhere near it. Something felt blocked, like your life had been derailed and you were meant to have done so much by this point.

Harry would be home, soon. For a short bit, but enough time for you to talk. It didn’t sit right, you thought deeply as you finished the bottle, how your heart was telling you what to do. The idea wa painful, although the path felt fundamentally right. Sometimes, things just didn’t end out well. And it was no one’s fault, it was just how lives came together and fell apart.

-

He sat across from you in the diner, one of his knees restlessly bouncing. His hands were clasped, resting on the table between you both and his fingers twirling his rings around.

Harry didn’t like the way you asked him out to lunch, not one bit. You normally would call him up and shyly ask, as if you two were on your first date or something, and he would laugh and say, “’Course, love. Give meh five minutes, be right there.”

This time, your voice sounded reluctant. Making sure to stress that it wouldn’t take long, that he would have time to make it for his afternoon meeting, no problem.

The fact you hadn’t made eye contact with him yet didn’t help.

His knee bounced faster.

On your end, all you could see was the slight scruff darkening the edges of his chin, the rough hairs against his jaw. Of course he decided to try and grow a beard when you needed to have a serious discussion with him. How were you supposed to explain that you needed to take a break, when you were falling in love with him all over again?

“What’s been going on? Yeh alright?” He licked his lips, lowering his head a bit to try and catch your eye.

You sighed, tucking an arm onto the table and stirring your drink absentmindedly. You know he meant nothing by the question, but that was the issue. There _was_ nothing going on, you had nothing interesting to offer to the conversation. No “guess what!” starters, no topics that would catch his fancy. Your life felt comfortable and alright, but to describe it would be to describe the air. It was _there_ , sure, and it was _helpful_ , but nothing about it made your heart content. (Despite the fact that the air provided oxygen and yada yada yada, it’s still a good analogy.)

“Not really.”

“Yeah?”

One of his hands let go of his other, reaching forward to curl his fingers around yours. His eyes were searching for their safe haven in yours, but were only met by your exhausted, slightly cold glance over. Harry felt momentarily at a loss of words, unsure of how to proceed. You had never been like this before, he didn’t know what was going on.

You held his hand, briefly, squeezing it gently, before letting it go and sitting back.

“I think we need to take a break,” the confidence in your voice surprised even yourself a little, “I need some time, to figure things out. Be the person you need me to be.”

Immediately, Harry shook his head, eyebrows furrowing and his mouth pursed. He looked slightly pouty, which would normally have you giggling and poking his lower lip, but you only stared back.

“Don’t be ridiculous, yeh’re all I need.” He attempted a smile, a nervous laugh making it only halfway out.

“Harry, stop.” It was quiet, filled with a resolution Harry had no say in.

He felt a bit hopeless, like the your time together had been written off, the end of a chapter without so much as a heads up. You hadn’t been as talkative as you normally were through text, or over the phone, but he had assumed you were tired from work, or that he was absurdly hyped up from all his shows.

Not that you had been dwelling on breaking things off with him.

“I still watch the same movies that I did when we started dating,” your hands flared up, your voice rising slowly with the outburst, “Hell, since when we first met! I haven’t explored this city, like at _all_ , I don’t have any super close friends I tell things to, I’m not getting a promotion anytime soon, my life isn’t _moving_ like yours is. I’ve had no change. I, just...need some time to get it back on track, and I don’t think I can do that when I’m with you.”

You took a breath, having finished what you had to say, and realized you really weren’t sure how to finish this. Harry hadn’t moved, still looking agape at you, no emotion ringing clearly on his face. You reached over to grab your purse from against the window of your booth, ruffling through it as Harry was reeling, trying to make sense of what you had said.

You put a few bills down on the table to cover your meal, and started sliding out of the booth.

He held onto your arm as you stood up, clutching tighter than he probably realized. You flinched without noticing, surprised by the sudden movement.

“Wait, Y/N, are yeh serious? You’re leaving now?”

You paused, looking at him, sorrow lifting the corners of your mouth into something resembling pity. He didn’t know the endless nights of staying in, the cycle you felt you were trapped within, and how you had nothing left to offer in your bones to such an incredible man. He needed someone who could keep up with him. You saw the dust resting against your skin, you were already so far behind.

“Let’s just give it a few days, okay? I need to be alone.” in a fuller, more symbolic sense, perhaps.

He nodded, his eyes glazing out to stare at nothing. You knew he understood, to an extent, as he was fairly introverted, himself. Yet, Harry had never pushed you away during one of those times. He had still let you into his home, curl up with him on his bed, and sit in silence as long as he needed you to. This was what _you_ needed him to do, now.

Even if it hurt, walking away, you felt a burden ease off of you. It wasn’t Harry, definitely not, but the act of having to pretend like you were normal, answer the phone and exaggerate the slightest bit of good news in your day so as not to cause Harry to get suspicious...it had taken a bit of a toll on you. Now, all you _had_ was you.

-

You were snuggling up with another glass of wine, another pile of dishes being blatantly ignored on your kitchen counter. A journal was open in front of you, the pages prominently blank and your pen relatively untouched. You were trying to get the words out, to figure out where to start.

Maybe if you got in a flow of things, you could read back over everything and figure out where your focus was stuck. Maybe it would show you where you could work on, what you could change. Either way, you were trying to gather some sense out of your muddled thoughts.

“Y/N?”

It probably wasn’t too much of an exaggeration to say you jumped a foot in the air. Fortunately, your glass was empty so nothing spilled, but your heart-rate definitely began sprinting. It took a proper second to recognize his voice.

It was Harry, of course it was. He had a key to your place, and you had left him in a diner a few hours ago before giving him time to have proper closure for anything.

He would never leave you alone, not like this; something you had known, in the back of your mind, but had hoped he wouldn’t act on. You still firmly felt that this was something you needed to do alone.

“Harry?”

“Listen, love,” he came into the living room, brandishing papers with both hands frantically. He seemed out of breath, when he sat down next to you and began shuffling wildly through them. You were a bit stupefied, but he seemed to have his wits together enough.

“I did some research. I want to talk about it, I just didn’t know what yeh had meant before. Yeh feel stuck, yeah?” Harry nodded at you, eyes shining. He looked remarkably more at ease, now that he knew what the issue was and felt he could help.

Numb, you nodded, and poured yourself another glass. You would definitely need it, he didn’t look like he was planning on making it a quick visit.

“Well, I found some articles and stuff talking about it? I don’t really know if all the advice will work, but I figured it’s somewhere to start.”

He didn’t wait for a response from you, placing the papers down on his lap. With a groan, he reached over to the edge of your couch and snatched his favorite blanket of yours, folding it up messily and placing it around your shoulders. Harry then removed the glass of wine from your fingertips, took a healthy sip, and put it on a coaster on the wooden side-table.

“Harry?”

“Yes, love?”

“You remember, our conversation, right? Where I said I needed a break…?” You had finally snapped out of your hazy mindset, feeling awkward enough to make the pointed remark.

Harry didn’t move, simply looked you straight in the eye and nodded. He didn’t look particularly upset, or even sorry.

“I know, love, I know you did. And we can take a break from being together, romantically, if that’s what yeh need. But I’m still here for yeh, as a friend. Let me do this,” he pleaded quietly, licking his lips as he did when he got a bit nervous.

You breathed in deeply, nodding as it rattled out of your nose. Everything already felt fucked, why not let Harry have a stab at it? You’d only be proved right, how much of a pointless mess it all felt like.

“Okay, love, let’s start going through this,” he picked up right where he left off, seamlessly, “So, the main thing I found was that we’ve got seasons of life, yeah?”

He scratched behind his ear, eyeing one of the articles over. You moved to sit cross-legged on the cushions, pulling some of the papers your way.

“And our ‘best’ varies for each season, it’s all unique to where we are in life. There’s no actual timeline for it, either, so it’s all - like - based on comparing ourselves to what we had accomplished in the past. But that was under different circumstances, we’re different in each trial we face.”

You nodded. He watched you carefully, feeling satisfied enough that you were paying attention.

“Feeling stuck is valid, it’s an emotion and those are inherently valid.” You recognized his words, knowing they were similar to ones you had told him countless of times Harry had felt like his feelings were ‘wrong.’ Definitely was weird, when they were aimed at you.

“But the actions we take in response to what we feel are what need to be justified, what we’re _responsible_ for. Change seems t’ be the right answer, and it sort of is truthfully, but yeh gotta quit the expectation that it’ll happen fast, or that yeh need a big change. Or that yeh need to cut out people and do this alone,” he said, pointedly.

You blushed and turned your head, nodding.

His focus turned back to the papers, smiling gently to himself. He could feel your emotions smoothing out, that your eyes didn’t seem quite as lost. He hummed, concentrated in his reading before he found what he was looking for.

“’T’s right here, love, see? Fear doesn’t have the power to stop your life. What you’re scared of can’t limit your life unless yeh let it. The fears exist, but it doesn’t have to stop yeh from trying whatever it is you’re scared of. Feeling stuck isn’t about the lack of knowing what to do, it’s about needing the courage to just do it. Life responds to you and your outlook, if you’re scared the outside universe won’t look so good.”

Harry spent the rest of the night reading online articles to you, highlighting the advice you responded well to, and blacking out the ‘bad’ advice with Sharpie (he did it once and you giggled so yeah, he’s gonna keep fucking doing it).

-

When morning came around, you hadn’t made a New Life Plan with Harry. That wasn’t the point, after all. He had come over to remind you that you weren’t suddenly a different person because of your little shlump, that your passions were still _witihin_ you, the fierce and fiery aspects of your soul were just a little dormant for the moment. All dragons did it, why shouldn’t you?

Though, he _had_ finagled you into signing up for one of his gym classes, insisting that if “yeh’re gonna try something new, love, want to be there.” (And he was, giggling at how much _sweat_ could possibly drip out of a human body as you grumbled and hid your own laugh).

You did work to add new things to your schedule, even if they were small. For example, you changed the time you arrived at work – instead of taking the train, you left your apartment earlier and walked the distance. Being out in nature helped loads, seeing families around you and the few birds that remained circling around the city.

The ‘friends’ you had made at work and around town started receiving dinner party invitations to your home more frequently, and if the friendship didn’t work out you stopped really giving a fuck. Those who stayed, you grew closer with. Those who didn’t, good-bye.

Harry could notice a difference and he wondered how he ever thought you were okay, before. Sure, you still had down days – but now you were more comfortable sharing those with Harry, and admitting your lower moments. Even when he seemed to be on top of the world, he made you feel like you were on the top of his.

It didn’t magically change your perspective on life or anything, but the crutch of knowing that someone truly, deeply cared for you was enough on the harsher nights. A reminder of love, a little nudge that you didn’t have to be perfectly successful in all the ways you wanted, to be worthy of love and respect. You could be you, at the pace in which your life was, and so long as you took care of yourself, it would all work out.

 

* * *

 

Here are the links I used as ‘research’ and reference for quality advice on this, if you’re interested:  
<http://allisonfallon.com/stuck/> <https://tinybuddha.com/blog/feel-stuck-life-secret-dealing/>

<http://www.marcandangel.com/2014/09/14/10-things-to-remember-when-youre-feeling-stuck/>

<http://www.planetofsuccess.com/blog/2016/feeling-stuck-in-life-10-powerful-ways-to-free-yourself/>

<http://www.lifehack.org/311245/you-feel-trapped-these-9-things-take-your-life-back>

I feel like this is a _very_ common feeling for everyone to have, and it’s important to take a step back and remind ourselves that WE are the ones putting all this expectation on ourselves. It’s a bit much, sometimes! It’s okay to simply _live_ , and if it isn’t your wildest dreams happening every night, that’s okay. There’s time for that, do what feels right at the moment.


End file.
